The Protege
by Tripetta
Summary: It’s six years after the events of the film. Leon wasn’t killed in the explosion, but no one knows that. As Mathilda nears adulthood, she decides to follow in his footsteps. What happens when fate causes their paths to cross once more?
1. Default Chapter

Title: The Protege  
  
Author: Tripetta tripetta@ev1.net  
  
Summary: 'The Professional/Leon' sequel. It's six years after the events of the film. Leon wasn't killed in the explosion, but suffered severe injuries and has been comatose for much of the past six years. Mathilda, along with the rest of the world, believes Leon to be dead, but has never forgotten him or the lessons he taught her. As she nears adulthood, she decides to follow in his footsteps. What happens when fate causes their paths to cross once more?  
  
Disclaimer: 'The Professional/Leon' universe doesn't belong to me. Columbia/Tri-Star Pictures holds that privilege. I penned this story for love of the movie and characters and am making nada moolah from it. Please don't sue for it would be a fruitless endeavor. Trust me.  
  
Authors Note: Yes, I know, there is absolutely no way Leon survived the end of the movie. I'd have to agree with you there. BUT I just couldn't let him go like that. The ending was so unworthy of him. And I couldn't let Stan win, nope nope. So you'll just have to buck up, suspend your disbelief and get on with it. Or not. Entirely up to you.  
  
Feedback and/or reading and reviewing: If you'd like to let me know your thoughts and feelings on this piece of fiction, I'm more than eager to hear them. You can either e-mail me at the above address or submit a review.  
  
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'And lovely apparitions, -- dim at first,  
  
Then radiant, as the mind, arising bright  
  
From the embrace of beauty (whence the forms  
  
Of which these are the phantoms) casts on them  
  
The gathered rays which are reality –'  
  
'Prometheus Unbound' ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley  
  
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Franklin Hospital Medical Center Valley Stream, New York  
  
Amelia Ruttledge, R.N., parked her Honda in her assigned employee parking space behind Franklin Hospital Medical Center. The hospital was creatively named for the street on which it was located, Franklin Avenue, which itself was centered in Valley Stream, New York. Effectively, it was a suburb of New York City, being just east down State Highway 27 where Queens County gave way to Nassau Bay County. Amelia was thankful for that distinction though. Nassau Bay allotted more funds to the hospital than Queens would be able, or willing, to.  
  
Franklin was a non-proft facility dedicated to providing the best quality care to those who couldn't afford it. It also housed an excellent long term care and rehabilitation wing, which was Amelia's domain. She mused over this as she locked her vehicle and made her way to the back entrance as the sky darkened. She had been working the 12 hour night shift, from 6:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., for more years than she cared to recall.  
  
She ran her key card through the slot beside the door and made her way to the staff elevator, her rubber soled shoes barely making a sound on the linoleum. She wasn't necessarily stealthy, though some would accuse her of just that. She was the victim of genetics, possessing her father's height and her mother's slight frame. At 5'11", she barely weighed over 100 pounds. 'You have to run around the shower to get wet' her husband would often tease, but always with a smile and a kiss. Their 40th wedding anniversary was only a few months away, she needed to think of something extra special this year.  
  
She punched the button for the 3rd floor and emerged, making a right towards the nurse's station. Delia Jackson, her co-worker of the last 12 years, was already seated at the counter going over notes from the day shift. Amelia smiled fondly as she approached, wondering as she always did how two such different women could become such fast and enduring friends. While Amelia was tall, thin, and pale as skim milk, Delia was short, squat, and as dark as the moonless night outside. Amelia had grown up somewhat privileged, married well, and was lucky enough to have never experienced tragedy. Delia grew up in poverty, married and divorced three times with a son to show for each, and had already lost two of them to the city's violence. One to death and one to prison. Delia looked up as Amelia reached the desk and glanced at the clock on the wall.  
  
"Well, well," Delia commented, returning her gaze to Amelia, "barely 2 minutes early tonight. Slacking off, are we, in our old age?"  
  
"Not all of us can be suck ups and brown nosers," Amelia replied, shrugging a shoulder and walking her fingers across the counter. Delia managed to suppress a grin and nodded her head.  
  
"True enough, there are so few of us with a talent for it," she said, huffing on her nails and then rubbing them on the scrub top covering her ample chest. Amelia laughed.  
  
"I can't argue with that," she replied and then nodded towards the stack of folders. "What's on for tonight?"  
  
"Oh, the usual, our share of bathing and medicating and stretching and massaging...and news of further improvement with your favorite boy," Delia told her, handing over a file.  
  
Amelia's 'favorite boy' was a case that had come in 6 years earlier, a John Doe with a bullet in the back of his head and burns over a good third of his body. He'd been found in the rubble of a bad fire that had razed a hotel in the city. No identification was found on him and of course all guest records had been destroyed along with the building. Amelia had wondered at the police maneuvering him into Franklin, but had gotten the impression that John Doe may have been caught in the crossfire of whatever was happening at the hotel at the time. Maybe they were trying to cover it up, maybe they were being altruistic. Whatever the reason, Amelia was glad he ended up on her doorstep.  
  
"I'll just go take a peek in at him," she told Delia, heading down the hall. Delia smiled knowingly and nodded, returning her attention to the other files.  
  
Amelia pushed open the door to room 322, the last room down the east wing, and let it close softly behind her. The light above the head of the bed was on at its lowest setting, illuminating enough of the room so that Amelia didn't bump into anything. Not that she needed it after all these years, she knew every inch of the room. She stopped at the side of the bed and placed a hand on the side rail, the other holding the file to her chest, and listened to his soft snoring. Like a baby's.  
  
She marveled at how he had changed since his admission. Of course, after six years, that was to be expected, but his case had almost been a lost cause from the beginning. The bullet to the head should've done him in from the get go, but luckily the area of penetration didn't prove fatal. It had just put him a coma for four years. And then there were the burns, which as far as burns went, weren't as bad as could've been expected considering the state of the building. Mostly first degree, a few areas of second degree. One of the delivering paramedics had told her John had been lucky, that apparently the way that the debris had fallen about him had shielded him from the worst of the flames. 'Good-bad luck', Amelia thought wryly.  
  
And so John had come to her – burned, bloodied, and bullet ridden. And with an amazingly strong will to live. She wondered why she had become so taken with him. There were many that came into the facility, each with worse injuries and a poorer prognosis, certainly more demanding of her time and skills, but there was something about John. An aura about him. Not that Amelia believed in such silly things, but John seemed to have one just the same. And maybe, just maybe, he brought out her maternal instincts, the ones she'd had to fold up and put away neatly after losing her baby son so many years ago. She imagined her son might resemble John, tall and handsome, with a sweetness and vulnerability about him. She reached down and squeezed his hand softly and then left the room as silently as she'd come in.  
  
As she made her way back to the nurse's station, she checked over the notes in his file that the day shift had made. A couple of years ago, John had begun to wake from his coma. It wasn't like in the movies with the patient popping up from the bed, immediately awake, as if from a nightmare. No, the process took months, could even take years. But her John had excelled. After a mere 3 months of slow awakening, he was forming complete sentences, although they seemed to be in Italian. Another 2 months and he was out of the bed and beginning the long road of rehabilitating his body, his English coming back to him along with his strength. His memory was another story, but that too would come with time.  
  
She smiled to herself as she read the last line of notes in the file – 'Patient completes all assigned physical tasks, but always overexerts himself with abdominal crunches.'  
  
John did love his sit-ups. 


	2. Chapter Two

Author's Note: My apologies to anyone who's actually familiar with Little Italy and New York in general. While I did a basic bit of research on the area, I freely admit my facts may not be straight and others may be bent to fit my needs.  
  
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Little Italy  
  
Manhattan, New York  
  
Mathilda Lando strolled down Mulberry Street in the heart of Little Italy, taking in the now familiar scenery as she passed by. Old St. Patrick's Church at Prince, with its seemingly out of place big red wooden door. The Puglia Building at Spring, painted in horizontal stripes of green, white, and red in honor of the Italian flag. And the infamous Casa Bella Ristorante at Hester, its unpretentious façade hiding one of the best Italian restaurants in New York.  
  
'But not as good as Tony's,' Mathilda mused silently, stopping at Supreme Macaroni Co. aka Guido's Restaurant. She stepped inside and removed her sunglasses, placing them in her backpack before heading towards the kitchen. Manolo Costa promptly jumped up from where he was sitting with Tony and dashed over to her, nearly tripping himself in the process. He coughed, crossed his arms, and leaned ever so casually against the wall.  
  
"Mathilda, hi, how are you?" he asked, his grin large enough to split his face.  
  
"Hey, Manny, good" Mathilda answered as she passed by, barely glancing in his direction.  
  
"Manolo," he corrected automatically, beginning to follow her. "Listen, there's a new play starting tonight at the Sullivan in SoHo. I was wondering-"Manolo was cut off as the employee's ladies room door was shut in his face. "Oh, well, we can discuss it later," he told the door.  
  
Tony was chucking as Manolo returned to the booth and sat down.  
  
"I don't get it," Manolo began, sighing with frustration, "why doesn't she like me?"  
  
"She doesn't like anyone," Tony told him, thinking it wasn't far from the truth.  
  
Mathilda was an enigma. Tony thought he had seen the last of her the day Leon died. But, no, she returned every week. She pocketed her hundred dollar bill and stayed to chat with him. At first, she begged him to give her a cleaning job, but at his repeated refusals she discussed instead other things. Her life at school, a book she'd read, something she'd seen or heard on the street. But she never mentioned Leon. No, not once.  
  
Besides her weekly stipend, Tony had also started paying her tuition and board at the Spencer School in Jersey. He'd even signed some paperwork claiming to be a distant relative so that the state wouldn't gain guardianship of her. He had a feeling the headmistress at the school was greasing the wheels for him with that. Tony didn't usually go out of his way to help anyone, much less some kid he didn't know, but he felt he owed it to Leon. Guilt was a strong emotion. And what had started out as an attempt to assuage his guilty conscience eventually turned into an honest affection for the girl.  
  
When Mathilda turned 16, she again came asking for a job. But not as a cleaner. As a waitress. Tony was initially surprised, but didn't see the harm. And if he could help her earn some honest money, why not? It ended up working out well for him because, after two years, she was a Guido's staple. The patrons loved her. Cordial, helpful, charming...and beautiful. But it wasn't an inviting beauty. It was a look-but-don't-touch beauty, a distancing beauty. Tony once witnessed a male patron attempt to sneak a feel of her backside. Almost as if she had radar, Mathilda turned her gaze on him. She stared, unblinking, until the guy turned abruptly away, carefully keeping all parts of his anatomy, including his eyes, away from her during the remainder of the meal. And he left a big tip.  
  
Yes, Mathilda was a strange one. In a lot of ways, she reminded him of Leon when he first came to America. Kind of lost, but determined and focused at the same time. Weird combination. Manolo was still bemoaning Mathilda's lack of interest in him as Tony tuned back in.  
  
"Hey, go down to the Mott market and see what's keeping my clams," Tony interrupted.  
  
"Uncle Tony, we have plenty of clams," Manolo told him, confused.  
  
"These are special clams," Tony told him. Manolo just blinked. Tony sighed. "Potential assistant managers need to keep on top of these things." Manolo brightened and sped out the door. 'Honestly, if he wasn't my sister's boy...' Tony thought for the umpteenth time.  
  
Mathilda poked her head out of the bathroom and looked around. Seeing no sign of Manolo, she ventured out, dressed in her waitressing uniform, and started helping the kitchen staff roll meatballs when Tony called to her. She walked over, slid into the seat across from him, and waited.  
  
"Now, kid," Tony began, lighting up a cigar, "why do you have to be so cruel to Manolo? In fact, why can't you CALL him Manolo?" Mathilda appeared to think this over.  
  
"I'm not cruel," Mathilda told him. "And Manolo doesn't suit him." Tony waved his hand in a circle, indicating she should elaborate. "I don't talk to him because I don't want him to think I'm interested. And I don't call him Manolo because that's too macho. Manny fits him better." Tony considered this and then nodded.  
  
"Huh, that actually makes sense," Tony said, blowing a ring of smoke, pausing before his next statement. "You know he's crazy about you, has been since he was 15 and you first started coming around with – well, when you were 12." Something passed briefly over her face at Tony's near slip, something deep and sad. But then it was gone, as if it'd never been.  
  
"Not my problem," Mathilda replied finally, shrugging. Tony nodded, conceding her point. He decided to change the subject.  
  
"He turns 21 next week, we're throwing a big party." Mathilda gave him a rare half smile.  
  
"I know, I'm working that night."  
  
"So you'll be there," Tony exclaimed. Mathilda's half smile turned into a genuine grin and she lowered her eyes, giving him an elaborate nod. He didn't know that she would answer his next question, much less truthfully, but he felt he had to ask anyway.  
  
"Kid, are you happy?" Mathilda immediately lost her smile and looked out the front window at nothing, her gaze softening while she chewed her lower lip briefly. She finally turned back to Tony.  
  
"I'm content," she said softly. Then her half smile returned, not so genuine this time. "Ask me that again when I extract my 18th birthday gift from you." Tony didn't know what to make of that statement and shivered as he felt a chill pass over him.  
  
"What the hell am I paying you for?" he asked in a mock gruff voice. "Get back to work." He raised his hand as if to swat at her, but she was already sliding out of the booth and heading back to the kitchen. 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
  
Mathilda stared unseeing through the window of the bus as it passed through the Holland Tunnel, the Jersey shore coming up just ahead. She had almost heard his name tonight. Out loud. Leon. Not quite. But almost. It was enough. It could've thrown off her equilibrium for the rest of the evening, but she was above all else...a professional.  
  
A glance at her watch told her it was nearly 9:30. So she should be home by 10:00. Ms. McCallister would be happy about that. Curfew was supposed to be 9:00 sharp. But not for Mathilda. Mathilda knew she was afforded privileges that the other girls at the Spencer School were not. But, then, Ms. McCallister had made a number of exceptions where Mathilda was concerned. Mathilda had been somewhat protected and sheltered these past six years, but that would soon change. She graduated in two months. And her 18th birthday was approaching. She would be an adult, on her own.  
  
She was an exceptional student. Once she had applied herself and had given her studies a bit of attention, she found that she had a head for numbers, words, dates, and concepts. She was ranked #1 in her class. Of course, considering there were only 10 seniors, that wasn't saying much. Her S.A.T.'s had been a breeze, 1525, nearly perfect. Ms. McCallister had been ecstatic, insisting she apply at every Ivy League College in existence. Mathilda had done so and been accepted to a good percentage of them. She had only to choose. But she hesitated. She had visions of a yuppy job, a preppy husband, a house in Connecticut, even a pedigreed dog. 'Gag', she thought with a frown. That isn't what she wanted, it was so...ordinary. She'd had a taste of a different life.  
  
The bus came to a stop and she hopped off, sprinting in the direction of the school. She quietly let herself in the back door with her key and went upstairs to her room. She dropped her backpack on a chair and walked to the partially opened window, kneeling in front the plant that sat on a stool. Dieffenbachia. Originally from Brazil, it was brought to Europe around 1830 with a gardener called Dieffenbach. One of the first things she'd learned is that it was not an outside plant. So she'd immediately dug it up from the backyard and brought it inside. She also discovered that it was poisonous. If ingested, it could cause swelling of the pharynx and tongue, obstructing the airway and leading to death. You had to respect a plant like that. She ran her hand gingerly along some of the leaves, a sad smile on her face. She then stood and prepared for bed.  
  
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Amelia and Delia were discussing what to have for lunch, if a meal consumed at midnight could be called such a thing, when the light for 322 began blinking. Delia noticed it first and pointed it out to Amelia.  
  
"Your boy's awake," she said, pointing to the console. Amelia stood and started down the hallway to John's room.  
  
"Oh, get me a couple of egg rolls, an order of fried rice, some crab puffs, and a spring roll," Amelia said over her shoulder. Delia rolled her eyes and gave a wave to Amelia's retreating form. She picked up the phone to call Mr. Cho's Chinese House, which was open 24/7.  
  
"Damn, that woman can pack it away," Delia said under her breath as she waited for Cho's to answer.  
  
Amelia knocked and then opened the door to find John pacing slowly about the room. She had noticed that he didn't seem to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, perhaps not wanting to waste anymore time in slumber. He was also increasingly restless and Amelia was at a loss for what to do about it. John stopped his pacing and turned to her.  
  
"Amelia," he intoned softly. She came forward to touch his forearm.  
  
"What is it, John?" she asked.  
  
"Mathilda," he said. Amelia gazed at him for a moment before nodding and taking his elbow, leading him out into the hall and down to the communal lounge area close to the nurse's station. She turned on the television and inserted a DVD from the cabinet underneath. John seated himself on the couch and leaned forward as the movie began.  
  
Amelia walked back to Delia, knowing John's attention would be held by the movie until the credits rolled. Delia was looking at John with a solemn expression on her face, then turned to Amelia.  
  
"'Mathilda' again?" she asked. Amelia nodded. Delia cocked her head and looked thoughtful.  
  
"I still don't understand why he likes that kid's movie so much." Amelia wondered about that herself.  
  
An elderly patient down the hall had been using the television a few months back, watching the movie with his visiting grandchildren. John had been passing by and the movie caught his attention, no one knew why. Even John himself couldn't give a reason. It simply enthralled him. Amelia thought it could possibly be triggering memories - the setting, the story line, maybe an actor looked like someone he knew. But John seemed most intent on the main character, Mathilda, a precocious little girl with dark hair and a winning smile. Amelia had a thought she feared to voice, that John might have family somewhere - a relative that was either similar in appearance to the little girl in the movie or maybe shared the same name. If so, six years was a long time in a little girl's life. She wouldn't be little anymore.  
  
John narrowed his gaze as the Mathilda on the screen scampered with her friends and caused mischief. Something about her, something just beyond his mind's reach, like a word on the tip of your tongue that just refuses to be voiced. So frustrating. Flashes would come to him sometimes, strange images he couldn't quite grasp before they disappeared. Mostly violent. But then there was also a girl, the one that the movie character reminded him of. Sometimes laughing, sometimes sad, but always filling him with a sense of well being and . . . love.  
  
John was a patient man. Amelia had explained to him that his memories would more than likely return in time. A bit here, a piece there. Maybe not all, but certainly more than he had now. He could wait.  
  
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Author's Note: Wildwood, New Jersey is actually in southern New Jersey, so far south that it's just north of the Delaware state line. In the closing scene of the movie, when the camera pans up from the yard of the Spencer School, we can clearly see New York City right across the water. So either Luc Besson, the writer and director, wasn't really familiar with New Jersey geography or he just really liked the name of the town. *Shrug*, I just happened to notice it in my research.  
  
Also, the movie movie mentioned is actually spelled 'Matilda'. No 'h'. But I didn't see the point in confusing the issue. By the way, it IS a pretty cool movie;) 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

D.E.A. Building  
26 Federal Plaza  
New York City  
  
Lieutenant James "Jimmy" Pace bypassed the security checkpoint, exchanging a wave with the guards before entering the elevator and pushing the button for the fourth floor. He arrived at his office and, as always, did his best to avoid looking at the portrait of his predecessor, Norman Stansfield.  
  
The revered, heroic Norman Stansfield who lost his life in the line of duty along with his entire squad, except for Jimmy himself who happened to be on vacation at the time. He couldn't resist rolling his eyes. 'If only the top brass had known," he thought idly. 'But then that would've ruined it for me.' He had smoothly slid into place as Stansfield's replacement and had pretty much picked up where Stan had left off. Minus the pill-popping psychosis. Jimmy was just bad and he knew it.  
  
He circled his desk warily, noting that actual paperwork had accumulated during his lunch hour. He cracked his knuckles and took a seat, preparing to process everything to his outbox by the end of the day. Keeping up appearances was such a bother.  
  
A fax caught his eye. From Franklin Hospital Medical Center. Why did he know that name? Oh, yeah, the Italian. Damn, that was...over 5 years ago now. What could be up with him? Maybe he's dead, finally. A quick read of the fax dispelled that idea right away. Not only was he alive and well, he was getting out soon. 

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U-Store-All  
Hoboken, New Jersey  
  
Mathilda unlocked storage unit 731 and stepped inside, lowering the door behind her. She switched on the light and entered the room, surveying the contents. Over the years she had accumulated quite a collection of weapons – guns and knives mostly, but also an assortment of uncommon weapons as well. Sais, Elektra's weapon of choice in the Daredevil comics, and several bokken, wooden practice swords of various shapes and sizes, excellent for balance and coordination. The throwing stars were her favorite and she was becoming quite proficient with them. Several large round wooden targets lined the room, all scarred and pitted from use.  
  
She had guns as well, of course, but unfortunately, she couldn't use them here because of the noise. A gun range down the road was her practice arena. Long range rifles with scopes, 9 millimeter hand guns, even a little .22 caliber that could be hidden easily. And she was an expert marksman with them all.  
  
Along with the weapons, she had been honing her body as well. Not at a silly health club, but at a hard core gym that catered to boxers as well as those interested in the martial arts and self-defense. She would've preferred to keep her training completely private, but only so much could be learned from books and videos. Hands on training was sometimes a necessary evil.  
  
Luckily, the personnel at Harry's Gym couldn't care less who trained there as long as dues were paid. She even got some good tips from some of the guys who worked out there, as well as the occasional workout partner. If any of them were curious about a young girl concentrating so intensely on throws, punches, and head locks, none of them asked. She had the impression they thought she'd been traumatized in her youth. Well, she had, but not in the way they seemed to think. She let them think what they wanted, it suited her needs.  
  
Weapons were just part of her 'arsenal'. In one corner of the space, she also had a menagerie of wigs and different kinds of clothing. It was amazing how much one's appearance could be altered with just a new hairdo or a change of clothes.  
  
She strolled over to a shelf and picked up a throwing star in each hand, hefting their weight and aiming at targets on opposite sides of the room. With a flick of her wrists, the stars flew straight and true hitting the center circles. She pulled them loose and placed them back on the shelf, then picked up what she had come for to begin with – a Beretta M92 handgun. Her favorite firearm. She slipped it into her tote bag and headed out the door, locking it behind her. Time for target practice, wouldn't do to get rusty.  
  
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Franklin Hospital Medical Center  
Valley Stream, New York  
  
Amelia parked in the visitors section of Franklin and entered through the front door. It was strange to be here during daylight hours, everything had a different feel to it. And there were so many people. She passed through the waiting room and approached the front desk, introducing herself.  
  
"Yep," the receptionist responded, checking the calendar schedule in front of her. "Mrs. Pelton is expecting you. I'll buzz you in." Amelia waited for the tone and pushed through the door marked 'Private' behind the desk, tossing a thanks over her shoulder. Mrs. Diane Pelton sat behind a large antique mahogany desk, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She had a habit of pushing them back up about every 2 minutes. She stood now at Amelia's entrance and held out her hand.  
  
"Amelia, how nice to see you." Amelia smiled and shook the proffered hand.  
  
"Thank you, Diane. How have you been?" Diane Pelton had once been a lowly R.N. working the night shift opposite of Amelia and Delia's. When the previous administrator had retired, the position had been offered to Diane. She was a rare blend of political saavy and in the trenches experience.  
  
"I'm well. Please have a seat." Amelia did so. "What can I do for you?"  
  
"You remember John Doe #206318?" Diane grinned.  
  
"Burns and a bullet to the back of the head. About 6 years ago. I recall you had a soft spot for him."  
  
"Still do," Amelia admitted. "His progress had been remarkable and exponential. He's improved more over the last 6 months than the year and a half before that. He's outpacing any exercises and tasks we give him." Amelia steeled herself for the next statement. "I think he may be ready to leave us." Diane gave her a sympathetic smile.  
  
"I'll get the ball rolling then. You know how long red tape can take." Amelia nodded, not trusting herself to speak, afraid she'd burst into tears.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Supreme Macaroni Co./Guido's Restaurant

Little Italy

Manhattan

Tony watched as Mathilda bustled efficiently about the restaurant delivering dishes, refilling drinks, and taking orders. It was a busy night, as they all were at Guido's. It was also Mathilda's 18th birthday. The past couple of years Tony had wanted to throw her parties to celebrate, but she had flatly refused. And as if sensing he might attempt to surprise her instead, she calmly informed him that she would slide a knife between his seventh and eighth ribs, lacerating his liver and causing him to slowly bleed to death. Tony had regarded her for a moment before replying.

"You know, kid, as much as I like you, sometimes you're really creepy." Mathilda had flashed one of those rare smiles and continued on with her work. Tony chuckled to himself at the memory and glanced at the clock. Another couple of hours to go until closing. He wasn't looking forward to this.

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Aegean Restaurant

219 Columbus Ave.

New York City, New York

John Clark, formerly known as John Doe #206318, finished slicing a batch of mushrooms and added them to a pan already containing red onions, olive oil, and an assortment of spices. He expertly flicked the handle, mixing the ingredients, and allowing it to simmer while he checked the order receipt for the next dish he needed to prepare.

John had been working at Aegean for the last couple of months, since his discharge from Franklin. Having been listed as a John Doe for 6 years and a certified amnesiac to boot, he'd essentially been granted a new identity by the government. He'd kept the first name since he was used to it and been assigned the last name Clark, randomly selected from a pool of common surnames. And a social security number had been issued with his new name.

He'd also been provided with transitional living quarters at a halfway house and a job as a dishwasher at a restaurant close by. One night a chef had not shown up for his shift, leaving the culinary manager shorthanded on a Saturday. In desperation, he'd made an announcement to the kitchen, asking if anyone knew how to handle a knife. Before he thought about what he was doing, John raised his hand. He then stared at it in confusion, as if wondering how it had gotten in the air. The manager gave him a speculative once over, then shrugged and pointed to the chopping counter. Tentatively at first, John picked up a knife and started on a carrot. He promptly developed a rhythm and soon picked up a knife in his other hand as well. He learned quickly over the next month and seemed to have a natural feel for blending foods and displaying them on their plates with flair. The manager was so impressed, he took John under his wing as chef-in-training. And John actually liked being around the restaurant, it felt...comfortable.

Business wound down for the night, so John cleaned his area and headed for the halfway house. He couldn't quite think of it as home. He didn't know if he'd ever actually had a home. Somehow, he doubted it.

There was small collection of books in the downstairs office and he'd found one on the Civil War that looked interesting. He read slowly and it seemed he was having to look up every other word in the dictionary, but he was getting better.

Amelia had given him his own copy of the 'Mathilda' movie, but after watching it a few times on the television in the living room, other residents started looking at him like he was some sort of pedophile. So he stuck to reading books in his room. An hour later, he was sitting in the overstuffed chair by his bed, book open in his lap, fast asleep.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Supreme Macaroni Co./Guido's Restaurant

Little Italy

Manhattan

Mathilda smiled a goodnight as the last customer exited Guido's. She locked the door and flipped the sign to 'CLOSED' before heading to the locker room to change. When she emerged, Tony was sitting at his customary booth and waved her over with a "Hey, kid."

Mathilda slid into the booth. From the expression on his face, she guessed this discussion would not be to her liking and she sat silently, waiting for him to speak. He took a few drags on his cigar before reaching beside him on the seat and pushing a folder in front of her. She eyed it warily and then met his gaze.

"What's that?" she asked. Tony rubbed his palms together nervously and gestured to the folder.

"Open it," was all he said. Mathilda hesitated another moment before complying. The first thing she noticed on opening the folder was paperwork from Chase Manhattan Bank, followed by her name and an account balance in the high six figures. She looked up at Tony.

"What is this for?" she asked. Tony paused a moment before answering.

"Before he died, Leon told me that if anything happened to him, he wanted you to have his money." Mathilda had immediately tensed up at the mention of Leon's name and Tony continued more gently. "Do something with your life, kid. Go to school, find a guy, settle down. Leon would want that for you." Mathilda glared at him angrily.

"How do you know what Leon would want for me?" she demanded. "He would still be here if you hadn't –" She stopped speaking abruptly and crossed her arms over her chest. Tony sat back as if he'd been slapped and stared down at the table. Mathilda took a couple of deep breaths and looked at him. "I'm sorry, I know it's not your fault. They threatened the kids." Tony looked at her in surprise. "Manny told me," Mathilda explained, "about Stansfield crashing the birthday party." She uncrossed her arms, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Leon wouldn't have blamed you. And I don't either. Not really. I just . . .," she paused, then clasped her hands in her lap. "It wasn't fair," she whispered finally.

"I know, kid. Not a lot of things are." Mathilda nodded and eyed the paperwork again.

"That's a lot of money," she commented.

"Leon did good work. Twenty years worth. And he never spent much." With a last nod, she slid the folder to the seat beside her and faced Tony.

"And now for my birthday wish," Mathilda announced. Tony didn't like the sound of that and remembered the chill he felt when she'd mentioned it a few months back. When he didn't respond, Mathilda went on. "I want a job."

"You have a job," Tony responded, willing her not to say what he knew was coming.

"A cleaning job," Mathilda clarified. Tony closed his eyes and pressed a palm against his forehead. When his eyes opened, he pointed a finger angrily at her, flicking cigar ash on the table.

"I'll give you the answer I gave you six years ago – no!" With that, he stood and headed for the back. Mathilda quickly followed.

"Why?" she asked. Tony kept walking, but answered over his shoulder.

"Why?! Why do you think? You're a kid, you're a girl, you have zip experience, pick one!"

"As of today, I'm an adult, my gender can work in my favor, and everyone has to start somewhere."

"The answer is still no."

"You're not the only employer in town, Tony." That stopped him in his tracks. He turned to face her.

"What are you talking about?"

"I haven't worked here two years without seeing and hearing quite a lot. If you won't hire me, someone else will." She was serious. Tony knew it. Now what to do about it? He leaned against the wall and sighed deeply.

"Why, kid? Why do you want to do this? You're smart, you have a bright future ahead of you. You could do anything." Mathilda scoffed.

"Like what? Lawyer, doctor, teacher? Nine to five with a briefcase? Not interested. I was trained for something else, trained by the best. And I intened to make the most of that training." She crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly.

"Kid... damn it!" Frustrated, Tony ground out his cigar on one of the table ash trays and ran a hand over his head. "Okay, how about a compromise?" She uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on her hips.

"Such as?"

"Surveillance," Tony suggested. Mathilda didn't answer right away, chewing on her lower lip. Finally, she nodded.

"All right, it's like the mail room before the board room. I can accept that." Tony didn't know whether to be relieved or worried that she was being agreeable. Now how to stall until he could talk her out of this foolishness...


	6. Chapter Six

Author's Note: My apologies to those who have been following this story. I'm making it up as I go along and I'll admit I'm not sure where I'm going with it now. I have to wait for inspiration to strike and milk it for all it's worth;)

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Chapter Six

Starbucks Coffee Shop

630 Lexington Ave.

New York City, New York

Mathilda sipped coffee through a straw and tilted her head down at the New York Times in her lap to look surreptitiously at the man she was tailing. Dressed in a dark tailored business suit and rectangular frame eyeglasses, she made an attractive young executive up and comer. Since a good number of authentic young executive up and comers were crowding the Starbucks during the morning rush, it effectively made her invisible. Lost in a sea of like. One such fine young male specimen strode confidently over to her and asked if he could borrow the business section of the paper to check his stock prices.

"Fuck off," she told him, not lifting her head from the paper. Her mark chose that moment to finish his latte and head for the door. "On second thought, it's all yours," she said, rising and shoving the paper at him. "Here, there's a great menswear sale at Saks." She quickly tossed her drink in the trash and left, leaving her would be paramour looking self-consciously at his clothing.

As she followed through the crowded streets, her mind wandered over the past month. Tony had conceded to give her a job at surveillance, which wasn't exactly what she had hoped for, but she understood she was untried as a cleaner. Tony was a businessman first. If she performed well on the jobs he gave her now, she would get bumped up in the hierarchy eventually. Unless Tony started dragging his feet. She realized she couldn't expect to work the important jobs yet, but she also knew how Tony felt about her working any jobs at all, besides waitressing. If she felt he was taking too much time to move her on to bigger and better things, she would simply find someone else to work for.

Mathilda had two more months until graduation. Mrs. McAllister was very vocal about her choosing a college soon, but Mathilda simply wasn't interested. Not that she would tell Mrs. McAllister that. In fact, today was a school day, but Mrs. McAllister was under the impression that Mathilda was taking a tour of Columbia University. She made a mental note to stop by there for a catalog and t-shirt just in case the subject came up later.

* * *

Aegean Restaurant

219 Columbus Ave.

New York City, New York

John stood by somewhat nervously as Aegean restraint owner, Dino Lucceri, and head chef, Patrico Chancre, sampled the dishes he had prepared. Aegean had a part of the menu reserved for special dishes that were served for one month and one month only. It was very popular with the locals and John had submitted one of his own creations. Dino looked to Patrico and they nodded at each other.

"Excellent," Dino announced. "We'll include it on next month's menu." He had the menu proof grid in front of him on the table and uncapped his pen, looking at John expectantly. "The name of the dish?" he asked. John looked at the dish, a blend of fruits, spices, and pastry that he had been inspired to concoct.

"Medley del Mathilda," John said in Italian.

"Mathilda's Medley," Dino translated, writing the name in the blank on the menu grid. "I like it." He handed the completed grid to a passing waiter with orders to get it to the printer, then turned back to John. "So who's this Mathilda, huh?" he asked, grinning and winking.

"I don't know," John answered, shrugging.

"Well, it's an interesting name, all the same," Dino told him, then started discussing other matters of business with Patrico. John retreated to the kitchen to prepare for lunch, pondering the origins of the name himself.

* * *

Supreme Macaroni Co./Guido's Restaurant

Little Italy

Manhattan

Tony sat quietly, smoking a cigar and listening attentively as Mathilda recounted the day's activities of the men she was assigned to watch.

"In short," she concluded, "this guy is about as exciting as mayonnaise on white bread." She sat back and stared at Tony, her gaze just short of a glare. Tony knew she wanted to do more than follow white collar crime suspects around, but he was still hoping he could push her in the normal college student direction and turn her off of the cleaning idea entirely. He could feel himself wilting under her look and tried a different tact.

"Look, Kid, I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind, but you've only been at it a month. Leon took 20 years to get where he was, his level of skill." Mathilda sighed. They had spoken openly of Leon this past month, Tony sharing stories from Leon's earlier years in the business, and she enjoyed learning more about him, but deep down it hurt. Deeply. She had had so little time with him. She made herself focus on the issue at hand.

"I know, I realize that," she told Tony. "But there must be something I could do that others can't. A strip club, a brothel?" Tony blanched at the words and gave her a hard look. "Okay, maybe not," she conceded.

"All right, something that may be of interest to you. Jimmy Pace." Mathilda looked at him blankly. "He's the current head honcho at D.E.A. Headquarters." Mathilda's grip on the bench seat tightened as Tony went on. "He took Stansfield's place after...the fire. Anyway, he's more politically saavy than Stansfield, seems to be interested in tying up loose ends, making sure his past is cleaned up. Might be thinking of political office. That worries some of us."

"What would you like me to do?"


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Gnocco Cucina & Tradizione

337 E 10th

New York City, New York

"So just ask around, find out what he remembers, if anything," Jimmy Pace said, taking a bite of his roast beef sandwich and wiping his mouth.

"Sure thing, Jimmy, I'll head over first thing in the morning," Simon Toretti replied, rising from their corner booth and heading for the front door.

Neither took notice of the teenage girl sitting at the counter next to them with multi-colored hair, dark eye make-up, and a nose ring. She was flipping through a textbook and making notes in a spiral while bobbing to headphones. As Simon walked out, Mathilda gathered her belongings and made her way to the door, sparing a glance at Simon's back as she headed in the opposite direction.

* * *

Supreme Macaroni Co./Guido's Restaurant 

Little Italy

Manhattan

Mathilda slid into the booth Tony was already occupying and started detaching multi-colored hair pieces from her head. Tony took note of the nose ring and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Clip on," Mathilda explained, pulling it off and tossing it on the table. Tony grinned and shook his head in amusement.

"So what did you find out?" he asked. Mathilda flipped open her spiral notebook and turned it around for Tony to see.

"I'm not really sure," she said. "Apparently there's a man who was in a coma and woke up recently. I couldn't catch all of what they were saying, but this coma guy was around back in Stansfield's day and may know something about their, uh, business practices." Mathilda pointed to her notes. "John Doe #206318 at Franklin Hospital in

Valley Stream. Pace's man is heading over in the morning. So I am heading over tonight," she informed him, rising from the booth. "As soon as I get this goop off my face and dress in something other than varying shades of black."

* * *

Franklin Hospital Medical Center 

Valley Stream, New York

Mathilda parked the late model Lincoln in the visitor's parking lot. It was Tony's vehicle, he kept it in a parking garage not far from the restaurant. He didn't use it that much and since Franklin was so far out of the city, he agreed to let her drive it. She entered through the front door and walked to the information desk. She told them she was looking for long term care for her comatose grandfather and asked to tour the facilities. She was given directions to the appropriate wing and was told that someone would meet her. When the elevator opened on the 3rd floor, Mathilda stepped out to find a very tall, very thin older woman in scrubs waiting for her.

"Miss Brown? Hello, I'm Amelia Ruttledge."

* * *

Central Park

New York City, New York

Simon Toretti dialed a number on his cell phone and waited.

"This is Pace," Jimmy answered his office phone.

"Jimmy, it's Simon. I called out to Franklin. Figured why go out there if I didn't have to. Talked to one of John Doe's nurses. Claims he never really remembered anything solid. Mostly images that were 'violent', her word. Anyway, he's staying at a halfway house and works at the Aegean on Columbus. I figured I'd go over tonight and . . . have some dinner.

"Sounds like a good idea, I might join you. I hear they have great food."

* * *

Franklin Hospital Medical Center 

Valley Stream, New York

Amelia was becoming more confused by the moment. Young Miss Brown seemed sincere enough about finding long term care for her grandfather, but something wasn't quite right. When Amelia asked about the grandfather's diagnosis, the answers were vague at best. When questioned about his current condition and even location, Miss Brown's answers were still dubious. Finally Amelia guided the girl into an office and closed the door, turning to face her.

"All right, dear, I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday. I don't believe you have a sick grandfather." Mathilda sized the women up, then shrugged.

"No, I don't." Amelia waited, but the girl didn't elaborate. So Amelia crossed her arms and did some sizing up of her own.

"I can't imagine what a young person such as yourself would want here, unless it's drugs." She let the statement hang in the air. Mathilda's gaze hardened and she shook her head.

"I don't touch the stuff, had a bad experience with a pill head in the past," she said, thinking of Stansfield. Amelia nodded and looked at her thoughtfully.

"What is your name, dear?"

"Mathilda." Amelia's brows furrowed.

"Mathilda. That's an unusual name. Well, Mathilda, what can I help you with?" Mathilda pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Amelia.

"I need information about a John Doe under your care."

"Why?" Amelia asked before looking at the paper.

"He may be in danger." Amelia stared at the paper. 'John Doe #206318.' She looked at Mathilda, at the paper, and back to Mathilda. Her hair, the name, the age. Could it be?

"John? In danger? How?" Mathilda shook her head.

"It would sound implausible and I'm not certain that's the case anyway. If I could just speak to him?"

"He isn't here anymore. He left our care a couple of months ago." Mathilda considered this.

"All right. What can you tell me about him? How long was he here?"

"He was brought in about six years ago. He had been shot in the back of the head, he was found in a hotel that had burned down. You may remember – a number of policemen and D.E.A. agents were killed there. He was in a coma for four years, then started coming out of it, though with a severe case of amnesia. He improved steadily over the next couple of years and then he was ready to leave us." Sometime during Amelia's narrative, Mathilda had suddenly gone pale.

"Do you . . . do you have a picture of him?" Mathilda asked, voice trembling. Amelia immediately went to one of the filing cabinets in the room and pulled John's file. Paperclipped to the back interior was a Polaroid taken of John just before he left. Amelia removed the photo and held it in her hand just out of Mathilda's reach.

"You mentioned danger. What sort of danger did you mean?"

"The D.E.A.," Mathilda told her, looking her directly in the eye. Amelia nodded and closed her eyes, finally understanding why John had been brought to this out of the way hospital and forgotten. She opened her eyes and handed the photo to Mathilda, who took it with shaking hands. Mathilda took in a sharp breath as she looked at the picture. The eyes, the nose, the mouth. All of his beautiful features in living color.

"You ARE John's Mathilda, aren't you?" Amelia asked.

"Leon," Mathilda corrected. "His name is Leon."

"Leon," Amelia repeated. "That suits him." Amelia's eyes widened as she remembered something. "Oh, God. The D.E.A.! An Agent Toretti called earlier today asking about Jo- Leon. What he could remember and his current location."

"Where is he?" Mathilda asked urgently. Amelia grabbed a pen and pad from the desk, writing furiously.

"This is his address, a halfway house. And the restaurant where he works. His legal name is John Clark now." Mathilda snatched the paper from her hand and was half way out the door when she turned.

"You asked if I was 'his' Mathilda. Why?"

"Your name. It's the only thing he ever remembered."

* * *

Aegean Restaurant 

219 Columbus Ave.

New York City, New York

John Clark put the finishing touches on an order of moussaka before placing it on the 'ready' shelf for the waitstaff to pick up. He was starting on the next dish when Patrico Chancre, the head chef, came up to him.

"John, Dino needs to see you in his office," Patrico told him, taking the wooden spoon from his hand.

"It's dinner rush, we'll fall behind."

"I'll take over, don't worry about it." John nodded and removed his apron, then washed his hands and headed for Dino Lucceri's office. He knocked, then opened the door when a voice inside told him to come in. He entered to find two men he didn't recognize sitting in front of Dino's desk. All three rose and turned towards him.

"John," Dino said. "These gentlemen are from the D.E.A."

_Coming back from a job, the apartment is empty, a note on the table. "Leon, my love. I know where to find the guys who killed my brother. Their boss is Norman Stansfield. He's in the D.E.A. building, room 4602_. . . John blinked and shook his head as if to clear it.

"John?" Dino asked. "You okay?"

"Yeah," John answered. "I'm good." Dino paused a moment longer, then turned to indicate the other two men in the room."

"This is Director James Pace and Agent Simon Toretti. They want to speak to you." John shook hands with them and stepped back, eyeing them warily. That memory flash he'd just had. The girl. Mathilda. He was sure of it now. He knew her. But what was her connection to the D.E.A.? For that matter, what was his own connection to the D.E.A.?

Jimmy Pace was becoming nervous as the seconds ticked by and John Clark continued to stare at them. As soon as the D.E.A. was mentioned, Clark's demeanor changed. Maybe his memory wasn't as lost as everyone thought.

"Mr. Clark," Jimmy said. "We'd like you to accompany us to headquarters, there's something you might be able to help us with." Simon shot Jimmy a look, but didn't say anything. Dino rose from his desk.

"Gentlemen, John is one of my best workers, I need him now. Could this wait until tomorrow?" Jimmy gave Dino an insincere smile.

"We'll return him as soon as possible," Jimmy said, then turned to Leon and indicated the door. "After you."


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Aegean Restaurant

219 Columbus Ave.

New York City, New York

While John gathered his belongings from his locker in back, Jimmy and Simon waited just inside the front door for him. Simon glanced nervously around and opened his mouth several times as if to say something, but then shut it just as quickly. Jimmy was aware of his friend's squirming and let him continue to do so for another few moments.

"You have something to say, Simon," Jimmy stated finally. "So say it."

"Jimmy," Simon blurted, "what the fuck are you doing?" Jimmy shrugged casually.

"I'm just finding out what Mr. Clark might remember." Simon gawked at him as if another eye had just sprouted in the middle of his forehead.

"He doesn't - ," Simon began shouting, then looked around furtively and lowered his voice in midsentence, "- remember a fucking thing!"

"I disagree."

"Why?"

"Call it instinct. I haven't been that long off the streets that I don't remember instinct. That guy knows more than he's telling." Simon mulled this over and sighed.

"And if you're right?" he asked. Jimmy did some mulling of his own and then shrugged again.

"Maybe he'll give us reason to defend ourselves. With deadly force." Simon wasn't happy, but made no further comment.

* * *

John emerged from the locker room and was passing through the kitchen when the glint of the knives caught his eye. He slowed his step and examined them more carefully, lifting a hand and running it just over the surface of the metal. Without conscious thought, he selected one and hefted its weight. Balancing the handle in his palm, he flicked his wrist, setting the knife spinning vertically. With another flick, the handle was secure in his grip, blade down. He slid the knife into his backpack and continued to the front door.

* * *

Mathilda hurtled down Highway 27, keeping one eye on the radar detector and one on the speedometer. Wouldn't do to get pulled over. Her fake ID might get her into clubs, but she doubted it would fool an officer of the law. She was also trying desperately not to think, but it wasn't working very well.

Leon.

Alive.

She was having trouble wrapping her mind around that one. Maybe she'd always known though. She'd never been able to forget him, stop thinking about him. She'd never been able to let him go.

As she entered New York's city limit, she made her way to Columbus trying to locate Aegean Restaurant. There. She pulled up front and jumped out, throwing the keys to the valet.

"Keep it handy, huh?" The guy nodded and she headed inside. The hostess approached her.

"Just one tonight?" she asked, picking up a menu from the lectern.

"No, actually, I'm here to see an employee. John Clark?" The girl frowned and looked unsure.

"Um, he's not here right now. He – "

"It's all right, Kim" a man interrupted her. "I'll handle this." Kim nodded and left them alone as the man came forward and held out his hand.

"I'm Dino Lucceri, I own the place." Mathilda shook his hand. "You're here for John?" She nodded. "You know, this is gonna sound bad, but I didn't think he had any...well, anybody."

"He has me. And I need to see him, it's important. She said he's not here, is he off tonight?"

"No, he was here earlier . . . some men came by to talk to him and he left with them."

"D.E.A.?" Mathilda asked urgently. Dino eyed her curiously and nodded.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Was one of them a man named Pace?" Dino nodded again and looked worried.

"What's going on? The guy's legit, right?" Mathilda bit her lip and shrugged.

"Kinda. Did they say where they were taking him?"

"Yeah, headquarters. He left a card, do you need the address?" Mathilda shook her head.

"Twenty-six Federal Plaza. I've been there." With that, she turned and walked out of the restaurant. She signaled the valet to bring around the car and flipped open her cell phone, dialing a number and hitting send.

"Thank you for calling Guido's, this is Holly."

"Hey, Holly, it's Mathilda. Put Tony on, would ya?"

"Sure thing, Mathilda, just a sec." She was put on hold as the valet returned with her car and she traded a ten dollar bill for the keys. As she pulled away from the curb, Tony came on the line.

"Mathilda?"

"Tony, I need you to do me a favor and not ask questions."

* * *

D.E.A. Building

26 Federal Plaza

Jimmy and Simon approached the lobby doors, John walking sedately between them. Jimmy waved to Gerald Drewry, the guard on duty in the lobby, who immediately came over to let them in and watched as they entered the elevator, the doors closing on the trio.

The ride to the fourth floor was made in silence, but Jimmy could sense Simon's unease growing. That coupled with John's unnerving calm was starting to crack even Jimmy's usually unflappable demeanor. He examined John more closely as the elevator rose, trying to detect anything that might give a clue to the man's state of mind. There appeared to be none of the usual signs – a tenseness in the shoulders, beads of sweat on the upper lip or brow, fidgeting from one foot to the other. Nothing. Not one thing to indicate that John Clark had a care in the world or a guilty bone in his body. Jimmy narrowed his eyes at the back of Clark's head as the elevator doors opened and Simon led the way down the hall.

* * *

A stretch limo pulled to a stop at the curb outside 26 Federal Plaza. Gerald looked up from his magazine to the limo and frowned. The building had its share of city officials and various other people of importance arriving in limos, but Gerald couldn't recall a one that visited after 5:00 p.m. unless there was some serious emergency. The limo driver exited and came around to open the back door. As soon as he did, out popped a woman who stalked to the front and began banging on the glass. Gerald walked cautiously over, taking in her appearance. Early 20's maybe, long wavy bleached blonde hair, shiny scarlet lips, tight form fitting dress, stiletto heels, and a purse thrown over her shoulder. It was her eyes that caught his attention though. They held a barely contained fury. He felt sorry for whoever that anger was directed at.

"Hey!" she screamed. "Is Jimmy here?! Cause if he's not, his ass is in some serious shit." Gerald winced at the strong Bronx accent, it was the one New York dialect he couldn't stand. The woman continued her tirade. "We had plans! And what happens? He cancels because something 'came up at the office'. What the fuck does he think I am, stupid?!" By now Gerald had reached the doors and held his hands up placatingly.

"Miss, I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." The young woman scowled.

"Jimmy Pace. He's a big important man here," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "If he's here, you tell him Sheila is waiting for him and he can't just brush me off! I have admirers further up the food chain than him. And you can also tell him – "Gerald held up his hands again. Her voice was giving him a headache and he _really_ didn't want to be in the middle of whatever this was.

"Miss, please," he said soothingly, unlocking the door to let her in. "Why don't you come over to the desk and we'll call up to his office. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding." She immediately brightened and stepped through as he held the door open for her.

"Well, aren't you the sweetest thing? And I'm sure Jimmy will be very appreciative." Gerald waved his hand dismissively and led her to the front desk.

"Eh, don't worry about it."

As soon as his back was turned, Mathilda lost her smile. Gerald rounded the desk and lifted the phone as she followed him around. He eyed her nervously as he looked up the extension for Jimmy's office. She slid backwards onto the desktop into a sitting position then crossed her legs. Gerald finally found the correct number and picked up the phone. Mathilda casually reached into her bag and pulled out a taser, sliding it along the length of her leg so that it was hidden from his view. Before Gerald could push the last digit, she brought the taser up fast as a snake strike and zapped him on the neck. He convulsed for a few seconds then she dropped the taser and jumped up to help ease him to the floor. She turned him on his side so that he wouldn't choke, then took a plastic zip tie from her bag and secured his hands behind his back. She stood and flipped open her cell phone, telling the limo driver to circle the blocks a few times. That done, she took Gerald's keys, retrieved her taser, and made her way to the elevators, bypassing them and entering the stairwell. She took a look up towards the fourth floor and looked down at her stiletto heels.

"Fucking heels," she muttered, stepping out of them and stuffing them in her bag. She then took out her favorite Beretta M92 hand gun, slid an extra ammo clip into her cleavage, and stuffed the bag under the stairs. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and took a deep breath. "I'm coming, Leon," she whispered, then started her ascent.


	9. Chapter Nine

Author's Note: My sincere thanks to all who have reviewed and sent e-mails! They mean a lot to me, it's satisfying to know that other people are just as interested in Leon and Mathilda as I am. Isn't fan fiction fabulous?!

* * *

Chapter Nine 

D.E.A. Building

26 Federal Plaza

Walking down the hall towards Jimmy's office, John glanced idly at the photos lining the walls. Previous head honchos and those lost in the line of duty. He came to a full stop in front of the one of Norman Stansfield. Jimmy turned to see what was keeping him and met Simon's eyes. Simon shrugged and was about to push John along when Jimmy shook his head.

John knew that face . . .

_A young girl with dark hair dangling her legs off the stair landing, a conversation about cigarettes and secrets...the man in the picture exiting the girls' apartment, arguing with her father about drugs and money..._

_The same girl with a bloody nose..._

"_Is life always like this or just when you're a kid?"_

"_Always like this," he answers with brutal honesty._

_Shotgun blasts and gun shots fill the air as the girls' family is massacred. Her desperate tear stained face as she knocks on his door, begging to be let in..._

_That night he puts a gun to the girls' head as she sleeps and almost pulls the trigger..._

_He trains her in the art of cleaning, proud of her natural ability and skill..._

_She wants him to kill the men who murdered her family, but he refuses, so she decides to do the job herself...in this building._

_He rescues her, but Stansfield comes after them, surrounding the hotel and making escape impossible. He forces her to leave him..._

"_I don't wanna lose you," she cries, not budging any further down the air shaft._

"_You're not gonna lose me. You've given me a taste for life. I wanna be happy, sleep in a bed, have roots. You'll never be alone again. Go now, go. See you at Tony's. I'm gonna clean them all. Tony's in an hour."_

_But he hadn't made it to Tony's. Stansfield found him first. _

"_Stansfield?"_

"_At your service."_

"_This is from Mathilda." And the world had gone black._

"Stansfield," Leon said under his breath.

"I guess you can remember something after all, Mr. Clark," Jimmy said. The look that Leon turned on him sent chills down his spine and his hand to his gun holster. But Leon was faster. He twisted around, grabbing Simon and putting him between himself and Jimmy. He took the knife from his backpack and held it to Simon's neck.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked Jimmy calmly. Jimmy swallowed and raised both hands in the air.

"Like I told you, I just wanted to know what you remembered."

"I remember a lot, what do you want to know?" Jimmy pursed his lips and didn't answer. He and Leon simply stared at one another, engaged in a silent battle of the wills. Jimmy made a quick move for his gun, but Leon shook his head.

"Mistake," he said, running his knife lightly along Simon's neck, a thin stream of blood flowing from the cut. Simon gasped and went rigid. Jimmy held up his hands again.

"Okay, okay, take it easy... you realize there's no way outta here."

"There's always a way out. One guard downstairs, you two here, I like those odds," Leon responded, eyeing his surroundings for an escape route.

* * *

Mathilda reached the fourth floor landing and put her ear to the door, listening. She heard male voices speaking, but couldn't understand what they were saying. Using Gerald's keys, she unlocked the door and opened it slightly. She found herself looking down a long hallway with three men towards the end. She recognized all three – Jimmy Pace, Simon Toretti...and Leon. They seemed to be in some kind of standoff, Leon holding Simon at knifepoint with Jimmy looking on. 

Mathilda didn't know whether to help him or not. Would he even remember her? Would he recognize her? He knew her name, but was there anything more than that? Six years had passed, she wasn't a scrawny 12 year old anymore. She finally decided to watch and wait. If it looked as if Leon needed help, she'd step in. Otherwise, revealing her presence might just agitate him. Even though he had amnesia, 20 years worth of skills didn't just disappear. He would be fine.

* * *

Leon wasn't completely in possession of his full memories yet, but they were returning quickly. So quickly, his head was beginning to hurt.

Mathilda. Where was she? Had she escaped from the hotel before the explosion? Did she make it to Tony's? He'd been in the hospital for 6 years, anything could've happened to her in that time.

These men had found him. What if they had found her as well?

"The girl," Leon stated. "Where is she?" Jimmy frowned.

"Who?" he asked.

"Mathilda," Leon clarified. Jimmy didn't know what the fuck this guy was talking about, but he needed an advantage, so he'd play along.

"She's safe," Jimmy assured him, relaxing a bit. "Why don't you let Simon go and we'll talk about it."

"Where is she?" Leon asked again.

"She's safe," Jimmy repeated. Leon thought this over and then gestured to Jimmy's shoulder holster.

"Take your gun out." Jimmy started to reach for it with his right hand.

"No," Leon told him, "the other hand." Jimmy awkwardly unbuckled and removed the gun with his left hand. "Put it on the floor and kick it over here." Jimmy complied. Leon tightened his grip on Simon and told him to pick the gun up by the barrel. When he had, Leon grabbed the gun with his free hand and slid it into the waistband of his pants. "Take me to her. Now." Jimmy thought it over and shrugged.

"We'll have to take a little trip."

* * *

Mathilda was frustrated. As much as she strained her ears, she couldn't make out what they were saying. Eventually they seemed to come to some sort of agreement and headed back towards the elevator. She stayed just long enough to ascertain that the elevator was descending, then ran down the stairs, skipping 3 or 4 at a time. 

Even if their destination wasn't the ground floor, she could track them on the security cameras at the front desk. As she jumped the last set of steps, she grabbed her bag from underneath the stairwell and silently cracked the door. Just as she did so, the elevator dinged and opened.

* * *

In the elevator, Leon had exchanged the gun for the knife. Gun in hand, he lowered it into his jacket pocket, muzzle aimed at Simon's back. Luckily, Simon was wearing a turtleneck and, with a bit of adjusting, the wound on his neck was covered. Leon assured Jimmy that is any attempt was made to alert the security guard, Simon would pay the price. When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, Leon gestured for the men to precede him out. 

Mathilda watched as the trio exited the elevator and walked away from her towards the lobby. As soon as they turned the corner, she opened the door and stepped out, letting it close softly behind her.

* * *

As they approached the front desk, Jimmy came to a stop and looked around. 

"Gerald!" he called out.

"Hey!" Leon warned him.

"The guard has to sign us out and lock the front door. It's procedure, he'll wonder what's up if we don't." Jimmy checked the bathroom by the front door with no luck. "Maybe he's doing rounds, I'll call him on the radio." He walked around the desk and came to an abrupt stop. "Holy shit," he said, looking at something on the ground.

Leon took the gun out of his pocket and aimed in Jimmy's direction. "What is it?" he asked. Jimmy held a hand out to Leon.

"Gerald, the guard, is on the floor. I'm just gonna reach down and check his pulse," Jimmy told him, bending down behind the desk. He rose a moment later. "His pulse is strong. There are burn marks on his neck, looks like someone used a taser on him and his hands are tied behind his back." He looked furtively around the lobby. "There's someone else in this building."


	10. Chapter Ten

Author's Note: I'm totally in a groove now. Next chapter is already . . . well, mostly written. I may even post it later today. Again, my thinks to all those who have reviewed. I'd like to extend a special thanks to PadawanMage who's been with me from the beginning.

* * *

Chapter Ten 

D.E.A. Building

26 Federal Plaza

"Out here. Now," Leon told Jimmy, indicating the area in front of the desk. When Jimmy had done so, Leon pulled Simon with him to verify that the guard was indeed unconscious.

As Leon shifted his gaze behind the desk, Jimmy smiled to himself as he felt the reassuring weight of the gun in his waistband. He'd taken it from Gerald's holster when he'd bent down to check on him. While Leon's attention was shifted on the guard, Jimmy's hand inched to the gun.

Mathilda came to the end of the elevator bay and slowly looked around the corner. She watched as Jimmy found the guard and then moved back to the front of the desk as Leon checked on the guard. She frowned as she noticed Jimmy's hand move toward his back. A weapon? But she saw him toss his gun upstairs, so what was he reaching for? Her eyes widened as he quickly pulled a gun from his waistband. The guard's gun! Dammit, why hadn't she taken it? She rounded the corner at a run and raised her own gun at Jimmy.

"Leon!" she cried out in warning.

'Who the fuck is Leon?' Jimmy wondered distractedly as he pulled the trigger.

Leon, having heard the female voice and the subsequent shot, instinctively whipped around, pulling Simon into the line of fire. A split second later, Simon was thrown against him and he felt a sharp burning sensation in his left shoulder. They both went down hard.

Seeing Leon fall to the ground, something snapped in Mathilda. All these years of mourning his loss, unable to move forward, complete disinterest in other men, the feeling that she had been waiting for . . . what? To step into his shoes and walk his path, maybe? Find some connection to him beyond death?

But he hadn't been dead, just . . . misplaced.

And here he was, on the ground, unmoving. She couldn't yet think about whether he was alive or not. All that she felt was anger which was slowly coalescing into an all consuming rage for Jimmy Pace.

Before Jimmy could fully react to her presence, she calmly raised her gun, aimed at his head, and with a cold calculating glint in her eye, she shot him. A nice round hole appeared in his temple and a messy jagged crater oozing bone chips and brain matter emerged on the other side. His lifeless body slid to the floor and landed in a heap.

A movement by the desk caught her eye. She thought at first that Simon was attempting to get up, but his glazed over eyes told her he was dead. He slumped over as Leon sat up, pushing Simon away from him.

"Leon," she whispered, dropping her gun and bag and rushing over to him. She came to an abrupt halt as Leon raised his gun at her.

"Who are you?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously. She hadn't thought she could possibly feel any more pain as she had when believing him dead, but this surpassed even that. Here he was living and breathing before her and he didn't recognize her. She hung her head and a strand of blonde hair fell in her face. The wig! She quickly ripped it off her head and shook out her own dark hair.

"It's me, Leon. Mathilda." He narrowed his eyes, looking her over from head to foot, finally settling his gaze on hers. She saw recognition bloom on his face and he lowered his gun.

"You grew up," he said. She smiled and shook her head as she came to kneel beside him.

"I was always grown up," she told him. "I just got taller." He set the gun on the floor and raised his hand to her face, cupping her cheek in his palm.

"Mathilda?" he asked as if to assure himself that she was actually here. All she could do was nod as tears formed in her eyes. She hadn't cried since the day she thought he had died in that explosion. She suddenly threw her arms around him in a fierce hug but she felt him tense and suck in a breath. She immediately pulled back and noticed the blood on his shoulder.

"You're hurt," she said.

"It's nothing," he replied. She closed her mouth in a grim line and checked his back.

"There's no exit wound," she told him, rising and gathering the wig and their guns to stuff into her bag. She pulled out her cell phone and told the limo driver to meet her out front ASAP. She then helped Leon to his feet and walked him outside to the waiting limo.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

En Route, Somewhere in New York

In the back of the limo, Mathilda looted the mini-bar for napkins and held them against Leon's shoulder. It was bleeding pretty steadily, but seemed to be slowing. It was the bullet that she was worried about, it needed to come out.

She picked up the limo's phone and dialed Tony's. Thankfully, he answered himself.

"Tony, it's Mathilda. I need a doctor for a bullet wound. Someone trustworthy."

"Are you hurt?" he asked, concerned.

"You said you wouldn't ask questions," she reminded him.

"That was for the limo favor, doesn't apply here. What's going on?"

"I'll explain everything later. Please?" Silence hung on the other end of the line, then a heavy sigh.

"Okay, kid, lemme talk to the driver."

"Thanks, Tony," she told him, putting him on hold and paged the driver to pick up the phone. She checked Leon's makeshift bandage again and was satisfied that he at least wouldn't bleed to death, then looked at his face. She was still amazed that he was actually here with her.

"I'll be fine, Mathilda," he told her softly, thinking she was still worried about the gun shot wound.

"I know," she told him, then gently lowered her head to his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. "So will I."

Leon brought up his good arm to place around her shoulders and pressed his cheek to her forehead, feeling her warmth and savoring her closeness.

She was Mathilda, he knew that, but it was almost as if she was a parody of Mathilda. Her voice, her smile, her solemn gaze, but occupying a body with womanly curves and an intoxicating scent.

He was beginning to feel lightheaded, thinking thoughts and experiencing sensations he'd had nothing to do with since he was 19 and still living in Italy. Or maybe it was just the pain and blood loss from his shoulder.

When Mathilda snuggled closer and gave a contended sigh, Leon reflexively tightened his grip and caressed her hair.

The limo came to a stop in front of a brownstone and the driver opened the back door to help Leon. Mathilda reluctantly relinquished her hold on him and followed them up the steps to the front door. They passed through the vestibule and into the living room where Tony was deep in conversation with a man around his age with an old-fashioned black leather doctor's bag at his feet. At their entrance, Tony quickly looked over Mathilda for signs of injury. Seeing none, he turned his attention to her companion. And nearly fainted. His vision actually went black and he saw stars. He had to put his hand out to the back of a chair to steady himself.

"Leon?" he asked shakily. Leon nodded and gave him a ghost of a smile.

"Hello, Tony."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" Tony blurted out, crossing himself. He then picked up the crucifix from around his neck and kissed it just for good measure. He turned his bewildered expression to Mathilda.

"Coma guy," she said helpfully.

"Leon!" he shouted happily, walking over with outstretched arms, grabbing Leon by the back of the head and pulling him close to kiss him on both cheeks. "How the hell are you?"

"I'm good," Leon told him, a little embarrassed by the attention.

"He has a bullet in his shoulder," Mathilda said, pointing to the wound. Tony looked at it and turned to the man with the bag.

"Giovanni, what are you doing just standing there? Fix my friend's shoulder!" The doctor picked up his bag and helped Leon down the hall to a back bedroom. Mathilda started to follow, but Tony touched her arm and shook his head.

"We need to talk." Mathilda glanced down the hall and back to him, nodding. He gestured to an armchair, which she sank into, then took the one next to her. "So, explain." That she did, from Valley Stream Hospital to Aegean Restaurant to the D.E.A. building. By the end, Tony was rubbing his temples as if in pain.

"Two federal agents?" he asked incredulously. "You killed two federal agents?"

"Technically, Pace killed the other guy," Mathilda pointed out. Tony glared at her until she squirmed. "Okay, probably no one's gonna believe that," she admitted.

"Did you at least wear gloves and a disguise?"

"Not exactly," she said. More glaring, more squirming. "No," she clarified. Tony sighed and shook his head. He sat for a full minute deep in thought. He sighed again and turned to face her.

"You two have to leave the country," he stated. Mathilda's mouth dropped open.

"What? Why?"

"Kid, whacking bad guys is one thing, but when the bad guys happen to work for the government, killed in a government building, that brings all sorts of shit down on us. This won't go away." He let this sink in before he spoke again. "I'll get you two some passports and I have a friend at British Airways who can get you to London. From there . . . I don't want to know where you go. It's better for everyone." He picked up the cordless phone and left the room to make some calls.

* * *

Author's Note: My apologies, I know these past two chapters have been short, but at least they were posted within a decent time frame;) I would like to take this moment to plug 'Leon: The Uncut Director's Version'. It has almost 30 minutes of extra footage. Mathilda assists Leon with some cleaning jobs, a lot more interplay between Leon and Mathilda, AND we get to know about Leon's past, why he left Italy and ended up a cleaner. Since I put that last reference in this latest chapter, I'll explain a bit. When Leon was 19, he was seeing a girl from a powerful rich family. The father didn't approve and forbid her to see him. When she snuck out to see him anyway, her father killed her. He spent 2 days in jail and was released, charges dismissed. Leon killed him, his first kill. Then moved to America. He hadn't been with a woman since. See what you're missing with that watered down 'Professional'? Until next time . . . 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

1121 Houston St.

Little Italy

Manhattan

Mathilda remained in the chair, watching her hands clench and unclench in her lap. Leave the country? She'd never even left New York. Except to Jersey, but that didn't count. Tony returned to the room and took the chair beside her again.

"It's all set. Passport guy'll be here in the morning. Your flight's at noon." He put the phone back on its base and stood, coming to stand beside her. He hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder. "Stay here tonight, kid. There's an extra bedroom, even has some ladies clothes in it." Before Mathilda could answer, Giovanni entered the room. Tony and Mathilda looked at him expectantly.

"He'll be fine. Bullet came out cleanly and I stitched up the hole. As long as infection doesn't set in, he should be healed up in a couple of weeks. I've given him a mild sedative, sleep is really the best thing for him now. I've also left some antibiotics, make sure he takes them twice a day."

"I'll take care of it," Mathilda promised. Giovanni nodded and looked to Tony.

"Thanks for coming over so fast," Tony said, shaking his hand. "I'll walk you out." When Tony returned to the room, he picked up his jacket and came to stand in front of Mathilda. "I'll be back in the morning, get some sleep, okay?" She nodded and Tony squeezed her shoulder.

After locking the door after him, she made her way to the back bedroom and slowly opened the door a crack. The soft illumination of the bedside lamp revealed a peacefully sleeping Leon. A smile touched Mathilda's lips and she quietly closed the door.

She tried the door across the hall and found another bedroom. In going through the chest of drawers in the room, she found quite an assortment of women's clothing. She raised an eyebrow, wondering who they belonged to, then shrugged and chose some underwear and a nightgown in her size. After brushing her teeth and having a hot shower, she slipped on the nightgown and climbed into the bed, not realizing what a toll the day had taken on her. She was exhausted.

Almost an hour later, she'd tried every conceivable position on the bed and multiple fluffings of the pillow. She couldn't sleep, she was too restless. If she wanted to be completely honest with herself, she couldn't stop thinking about Leon. Right across the hall. Fifteen feet away.

'Eh, fuck it,' she thought, jumping up and exiting the room. She walked across the hall and opened Leon's door, stepping through and closing it behind her. She stood at the edge of the bed and examined him. The sheet had slipped down, revealing his bare chest. She frowned at the burn scars criss crossing his arms and torso, almost like candle wax that's melted into a puddle.

She didn't care that he was scarred. He was still beautiful to her, he always would be. She hurt for him, for the pain he must have gone through after the fire. The coma, the waking, the rehabilitation. And he had been alone through it all. It was almost more than she could fathom.

Unable to resist, she walked around to the unoccupied side of the bed and slid under the covers. She pulled the sheet back up to Leon's chest and settled beside him, placing a kiss on his uninjured shoulder and laying her had on his chest. She fell asleep within minutes to the steady beat of his heart.

Leon woke feeling warm and serene. He immediately tensed and went on alert because he _never_ woke feeling warm and serene. Even more strange was the fact that there was someone in the bed with him. He noticed the hand on his chest and followed it up an elegant arm, a delicate shoulder, and a swan like neck. Finally, he came to the face. Mathilda.

He breathed a sigh of relief and sank back onto the bed, enjoying the sensations that were coursing through his body. This was very new to him, being in bed with a woman. There hadn't been anyone since Lilliana, back in Italy. But she had never been able to stay the night. She would spend a few hours with him and then race home before her father found out she was gone.

Lilliana. Leon closed his eyes in pain. More than 20 years had passed, but her death still hurt. And it was because of him. Her father had found out about them. He had killed her, killed his own daughter for consorting with what he considered trash and sullying the family name. Killed her and got away with it. A slap on the wrist, charges dismissed, free to go home. Leon couldn't accept that, not for his murdered love. So he'd put a bullet between the man's eyes and left Italy that night.

Justice. That's what he'd gotten that night. At least, that's what he'd always told himself. Maybe it was time to let the past go. Lilliana would want him to be at peace, to find some happiness. A stirring at his side brought him back to the present.

Mathilda stretched and opened her eyes, blinking at him sleepily. She frowned at him in confusion, then her eyes widened.

"Good morning," Leon said softly. She shot up to a sitting position.

"Good morning," she replied automatically, various excuses for being in bed with him racing through her mind. "I was . . . um . . . cold. And there was . . . a noise. And . . . how's your shoulder?"

"It's good," he replied, flexing it for her benefit. She nodded absently and glanced at the clock. Just after 6:00 a.m.

"The doctor left you some antibiotics," she told him, indicating the bottle on the bedside table, "to be taken twice a day. It's morning, you should probably take one now." With that, she bounded off the bed and into the bathroom. She turned on the cold water and splashed her face, then looked in the mirror. "What the hell were you thinking?" she asked her reflection. When no answer was forthcoming, she filled a glass with water and walked back into the bedroom. She handed the glass to Leon, then opened the medicine bottle and shook out a tablet. "Open your mouth, please," she ordered, which he promptly did.

While Leon swallowed his pill, Mathilda shrugged and crawled back onto the bed to sit Indian style beside him.

"The doctor had already knocked you out last night, so we didn't get a chance to tell you. Tony says we have to leave the country today."

"Federal agents," Leon reasoned, nodding.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Shitty as they may have been, they were still federal employees. Tony's bringing someone by to make us passports this morning. We have a flight to London at noon. From there . . . I don't know. I guess we'll decide that when the time comes."

She offered to run him a bath, which he accepted, but politely refused when she offered to help bathe him.

"I think I'll be okay," he assured her, guiding her out of the bathroom and closing the door. She grinned when she heard the lock engage behind her.

"Your loss," she muttered under her breath, then headed to the other bedroom to put on jeans and a t-shirt. She couldn't find any shoes, so just padded around in socks.

In the living room, she flopped onto the couch and picked up the remote, surfing stations for the morning news. A few minutes of cruising the major networks told her that Jimmy and Simon hadn't been found yet. They would be within the next hour or two though when people started arriving for work.

Ten minutes later, Tony arrived baring breakfast and accompanied by a tall thin man wearing glasses and carrying a silver briefcase and a laptop.

Tony deposited cups of coffee and paper bags full of colaziones, Italian breakfast patries, on the kitchen table, then motioned to Mathilda.

"I went to the Spencer School and picked up some of your things. Carlo'll bring 'em in. We'll need to stop by Chase and close out your bank account." Mathilda gave him a perplexed look. "Once the Feds find out who you are, they'll freeze the account. What do you think you and Leon are gonna live on?"

"Right."

Leon walked into the room, feeling fresh and rested. Tony looked at him and shook his head in disbelief.

"Amazing. You survived that fire and look at you. Didn't I say you were indestructible?" Leon nodded as Tony slapped him on the arm.

"I'm ready," a voice said behind them. The tall thin man had opened his briefcase and set out a digital camera, mini printer, and other assorted items.

Leon and Mathilda each had their pictures taken and watched as the man brought the photos up in a program on the laptop that meshed their images with passport documentation. He printed them out, laminated them, and carefully inserted them between the blue binders of American passports.

"Nice," Tony commented, looking over the finished product. The man packed up his paraphernalia and left.

Tony asked Mathilda for a few moments alone with Leon.

"Sure," she agreed. "I'll go sort and pack. And find some shoes."

Tony joined Leon at the table, taking one of the cups of coffee and pouring in some sugar. Leon put down his colazione and waited, knowing Tony had something to say. Tony grinned and shook his head. Mathilda did the exact same thing when he wanted to talk to her.

"I'm saddened, Leon," Tony told him. "Here I am losing my best cleaner all over again." He paused and took a sip of his coffee. "And a good friend," he added quietly.

"Me, too," Leon said, nodding. Both men let the moment hang until Tony cleared his throat.

"Well, down tot business." He explained about the account he'd opened in Mathilda's name with Leon's money. Switzerland was a good place to transfer the balance, might even end up higher with the exchange rate.

"Whatever Mathilda wants," Leon said.

"Okay," Tony agreed. "Whatever Mathilda wants." Leon appeared to think something over.

"Tony," Leon asked, "how has Mathilda been?" Tony lit a cigarette and laughed in genuine amusement.

"I'll tell you how Mathilda's been." And so he did. From the day of Leon's 'death', her weekly visits to the restaurant, her eventual employment, success at school, and her 18th birthday gift he was blackmailed into giving her. Finally, he sighed. "Leon, she's smart, got accepted to practically every major university in the country, and what does she want? To be a cleaner, like you." Tony shook his head over the absurdity of it all.

"She should've forgotten about me, it would've been better for her."

"Hey, 'better' isn't always better. Besides, she's a good kid. I think you were . . . a positive influence." Tony glanced at his watch. "We need to get going, I don't know how long the bank thing's gonna take."

Tony cleaned up the remains of breakfast while Leon fetched Mathilda from the bedroom where she was just finishing her packing. In the limo, Tony put his banking idea to Mathilda, who readily agreed. The entire account transfer and accompanying paperwork took less than an hour and they were on their way to the airport. At the curb of the Departures gate, Tony declined to enter with them.

"I prefer clean breaks," he told them, then hesitated and held out his arms to Mathilda. "Come here, kid." She gave him a fierce hug, feeling tears prick her eyes. This man had been more of a father to her in the past six years than her real one had been in the first twelve. She quickly let go and climbed out, wiping her eyes and sniffling. Tony and Leon exchanged a good long handshake, then Leon climbed out as well.

In the airport, Leon and Mathilda passed through security and obtained their boarding passes with no fanfare and eventually boarded their flight. First class.

"Well," Mathilda said, settling into her seat. "Tony knows how to send people off in style, doesn't he?" Leon gave a faint smile and nodded as he took his own seat. "Have you ever been to London?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head.

"Me either. I don't think I would like it. Everyone complains about how rainy and gloomy it is. I want sun and warmth and wide open spaces." She took a deep breath before speaking again. "You know where I'd like to go?" Leon shook his head.

"Where?"

"Italy," Mathilda stated, sliding her hand into his and squeezing. Leon looked at their joined hands, then into her eyes.

"Italy it is," he said after a moment, squeezing back and linking their fingers.


	13. Epilogue

Epilogue

Five Years Later

Supreme Macaroni Co./Guido's Restaurant

Little Italy

Manhattan

Tony approved the daily special with the head chef and settled back into his booth to smoke in peace. His thoughts drifted, as they usually did, to where Leon and Mathilda might be.

The flurry of media and federal attention was as he expected it to be after the discovery of the bodies of Jimmy Pace and Simon Toretti. Indignation at the crime itself, condemnation of the perpetrators, vows to bring the murdering scoundrels to justice. The video of the shootings played endlessly for weeks afterward. Everyone theorized about possible motives, but of course no one was even close. No one could make the connection.

John Clark was an amnesiac who had been comatose for six years and was working as a cook.

Mathilda Lando was an 18 year-old straight-A student working as a well liked waitress.

Nope, everyone was stumped.

And then details started to emerge about certain dealings that Pace and Toretti were alleged to have been involved with. After that, the government seemed content to just let the entire fiasco die a quiet death.

Not that it would've been safe for Leon and Mathilda to return. There was no statute of limitations for murder, and the murder of a federal agent carried an automatic death sentence.

But, still . . . he wondered. He was shaken from his thoughts as the mail was set before him. He flipped through it, making separate piles for bills and junkmail. The last item in the stack caught his eye. A large padded envelope addressed to him. He narrowed his eyes at the return address and frowned. A Pack 'N' Mail in Arizona, a place specifically used to repackage and mail items when you don't want the addressee to know where the item originated. He'd used them himself a few times.

He hefted the package, but there was barely any weight to it. Couldn't be more than a couple of pieces of paper. His curiosity got the better of him and he tore it open to find a smaller flat envelope inside. He cut the end with a table knife and turned it upside down. A single 4 X 6 photograph drifted to the table. He picked it up to examine more closely. After a moment, he grinned from ear to ear, shook his head and chuckled.

The photograph contained a man and woman lounging on a red-checkered picnic cloth against a picturesque countryside with rolling hills, clear blue skies, and what looked like villa in the background. Nestled in their arms were two children of 3 or 4 years old, possibly twins. A boy and girl with their mother's eyes and their father's mouth. Tony flipped the photo over to look at the back.

'L., M., Tony and Lilliana. We're happy.'

THE END

Author's Note: Well, there you have it. Many thanks to those who have reviewed and sent e-mails, it was all for you! And me, of course. Mathilda and Leon SO deserved a happy ending!


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